


Harvest

by Outfoxed



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: F/M, Romance, Tragedy, gift story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outfoxed/pseuds/Outfoxed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his darkest hours, she was always there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harvest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sanctum_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctum_c/gifts).



**Harvest**  

* * *

  _Half a league onward.._

Another gunshot echoed in the night, and the baying of the hounds grew steadily closer. Zack grimaced as he forced himself onward, dragging Cloud along with him as he trudged through the mud and the rain, seeking a place to hide from the enemy pursuing them.

"Just a little further.." he breathed, pressing on as quickly as he could, despite being unable to see anything in the pitch-black night. It was only when he reached the summit of the crag overlooking the desert surrounding Midgar that he realized they were trapped.

Dead end.

Last stand.

"Wait here," Zack said, carefully lowering Cloud to the ground, before drawing his sword. "I'll keep them off us."

Cloud looked up at his friend, too weak to move or protest, barely cognizant of what was happening.

Despite their hopeless situation, Zack put up a brave stand, taking the first wave of enemies off guard as he charged into their midst. But there were simply too many of them, and there was only so much he could do against a battalion of soldiers armed with guns. A bullet grazed his shoulder, halting his attack and depriving him of the initiative. Another struck his leg, slowing his pace yet more, and it wasn't long before the strength to resist left him altogether.

Cloud watched as Zack fell, not far from where he lay, sprawling on the ground, unable to move. With the last of his strength, Zack turned his head, looking over at him, as though about to say something, when one of the soldiers marched over, bringing his rifle up level with his head. The muzzle flash shattered the encroaching darkness for that one awful moment, the crack of the rifle echoing throughout the night.

He strained to see what was happening. The gunshot had caused Zack's head to snap back, so that it was impossible to see what state he was in, whether he was still alive or merely wounded. It was mere seconds, however, before he could see the blood pooling out from underneath his body.

He wasn't moving.

Even though he was now lucid enough to be aware of what was happening, he still lacked the strength to move or react, the poison element coursing throughout his body suppressing any attempt at offering resistance. He looked up as another soldier walked up to him, took aim with his rifle, squeezed the trigger. He closed his eyes in anticipation of the inevitable end, when another soldier clapped his hand on the rifle, lowering it.

"Save your bullets. This guy's a goner."

"How do you know?" the other soldier asked.

"Mako poisoning," the first pointed out. "Nobody survives that."

They waited a moment, checking to see whether or not their target was playing possum. Cloud stared back at them, fighting to get up, to put up any kind of resistance, even though he knew the battle was lost. He had to. But it was no use. His body simply would not obey, bereft as it was of all strength. It was clear from his enemies' lack of reaction that they didn't consider him a threat. The blank look in his own eyes told them that he was blacking out, losing consciousness.

"See? He's already fading."

Satisfied that their mission was completed, the first soldier gave the signal to his comrades to head back. One by one, the uniformed figures turned and marched away, leaving the two escapees for dead.

A minute elapsed, during which he remained still under the fulminating sky, waiting until he was certain that the soldiers had left. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned over, making one last, desperate attempt to keep awake. His hands raked the muddy ground, clutching at anything he could find for use as purchase as he dragged himself closer to where his friend lay. But moving closer to Zack's body only confirmed what he had feared. His friend was gone, and whatever last words he'd meant to speak had died on his lips.

He turned on his back, gasping for breath from the effort. As the last of his strength receded from his body, he finally let go his hold of consciousness, all sense of self fading, washing away with the rain.

* * *

It might have been hours or days. Time had become an abstract concept to him, for better or worse. He had awoken some time ago in the desert, with no recollection of how he had ended up there. From there, he had marched towards Midgar, stalking towards the black city on the horizon in a dogged, almost mechanical manner. In spite of his deteriorating physical and mental state, he'd weathered the dry heat of the day and the freezing chill of the night, fighting off the ever-present temptation to simply lie down and black out again, perhaps for good.

It would have been simpler to seek shelter somewhere else. Some small town near the base of the mountain. But he was driven by an inexplicable compulsion to come here, instead. Stowing away aboard the first train he had spotted, he'd somehow ended up in one of the slums underneath the city proper. Once he had made his way here, all strength simply left him once again, as did that strange sense of purpose he had briefly experienced.

He closed his eyes, leaning back against the concrete wall, sliding into a sitting position as he rested against its cool, hard surface. The people passing by took no notice of him, and seemed to him no more substantial than vapours floating through the air. Again, the sickness took over, and time began to twist and stretch, untethered from its usual dimensions of past, present and future. Events seemed to meld together, with effect preceding cause, memories of the past mingling with the events of the present. As the hours wound past, he remained there, unmoving, and uncertain of whether any of what he was seeing was real, or just more figments of his overworked imagination.

It wasn't until late in the evening that a voice jolted him into the present once more. A young woman's voice, at once alien and familiar.

"Are you okay?"

He looked up to see someone bent over him, eyeing him with concern. A young girl with ruby eyes. Pretty. And somehow strangely familiar. Though he could swear that he knew her, he could not recall from where.

He shifted his position and did his best to reply, but all he could manage was a terse grunt. Although the words were forming in his mind, his body still wouldn't obey his directions, as though some great weight were keeping him from acting of his own free will.

"Wait.." the girl said, leaning down closer to examine his face. "Cloud... is that you?"

That name..

_You remember._

A flash of light.

As she spoke, there was a burning sensation inside his head, as the memories came flooding back into his mind, repairing his fractured psyche, filling the void. He glanced at the girl again. She looked even more familiar now, but from where, he couldn't say..

_(...Yes, he could.)_

_You remember who you are._

The fire. Nibelheim in flames. His mother's body, no more than a charred husk by the time he'd managed to break through the barriers separating them. Then, the reactor. Betrayal. Revenge. He'd tried to save them, but he was too late..

_What you are._

Memories of his military service came next, almost too vivid, as though being played out for him on a canvas, instead of something that he remembered happening to him. He was a part of SOLDIER. He had to be. How else would he have acquired the uniform that he was wearing? Yes. It was beginning to make sense, now. All the pieces of the narrative were falling into place..

_And you have to keep moving._

He _was_ formerly of SOLDIER. He had chosen to defect. But why? So many gaps still left unfilled..

_I'm close by._

His old mentor had betrayed him. That much he recalled. Had burned down his home and killed the only family he'd had left. He ought to be seeking revenge... or answers, at least. But his nemesis was already dead.

What came next, then?

_I'll see you soon.._

As the memories etched themselves into his mind, one by one, he could hear a voice guiding him onward. Whether it was only within his head or coming from outside, he couldn't tell. It was merely a whisper, yet it drowned out everything around it. Some benevolent entity, supplying him with memories and meaning. He had been seeing only the outline of himself, as through a mirror, darkly. Now, this entity was helping him to fill in the blanks, flooding an empty vessel until it was overflowing.

_...Cloud._

The voice fell silent. Without warning, the world came back into sharp focus. He possessed an identity, whole and intact, and was in control of himself once more.

He raised his head, looking the girl standing in front of him in the eye again. Tifa Lockheart. His old friend from Nibelheim. He'd left their home town at the age of fourteen to pursue a military career, just like they'd talked about that night at the well. Of course. It was strange that he hadn't recognized her right away.

"...Yeah," he replied, his voice still husky. He dusted himself off as he rose to his feet, regarding his childhood friend once more, this time with the appropriate familiarity. The girl before him seemed relieved and, at the same time, a little taken aback to see him suddenly recognize her in this way.

"It's me." 

* * *

He paced down the winding path, finding his way through the lost city by the cold light of the moon. He had been wandering aimlessly throughout the old ruins for the better part of an hour. It was the only thing he could do to take his mind off the events of the day. The only way to avoid all the pitying looks and the are-you-okays. No, he wasn't okay. But for the sake of his friends, he couldn't let that be known.

'The flower girl'. 'The slum angel'. 'The last Cetra'. She had always had a number of appellations encircling her. All apt, yet none quite fitting. To him, she was just Aerith. A friend. Someone whose companionship he had cherished. She was strange, to be sure. Not that strangeness was in any way foreign to their group. But there was something else that set her apart from everyone else that he knew. There was a lightness about her being. In spite of the squalor and adversity of the slums in which she had grown up, she remained pure, untainted by the baseness of the world around her. It was as though nothing could dampen her inherent optimism and kindness.

At first, it had struck him as simple naivety. But he gradually realized that it was her strength. She was as aware as anyone else of the problems plaguing world around her and, like the rest of their friends, she had had her own share of troubles. The difference was that she never let them weigh her down. She refused to accept that everything was lost, always proceeding with the same unfailing certainty that there was something left in the world worth fighting for. Even his own entrenched cynicism eventually gave out to her insistence on this simple truth. It was not only her words and actions, but the way she faced the hardships of life with a smile.

It was this strangeness which had drawn him to her, spurring him out of apathy and inaction. He had felt more alive than ever before in her presence. And now she was gone. The only mercy was that he had avoided taking her life by his own hands. That, at least, he had been spared.

He paused at the side of the road, his final memory of her resurfacing once more, unbidden.

_He waded out into the cold waters that would serve as the last Cetra's burial ground. He wasn't sure what it was that had drawn him to this place. Instinct, perhaps. Whatever it was, it had told him it was appropriate. With one last, tender look, he let her slip from his embrace, watching as her still-warm body sank beneath the waters. His face and hair were still matted with fresh blood, a far cry from her own visage, which remained immaculate and serene, in stark contrast with the violent end she had met. Even in death, she defied the natural order of things, greeting the void with a tranquil smile frozen on her features, forever._

Some time later in the evening, he came across a place he hadn't seen before, having spent another hour or two wandering through the ruined city, with no destination in mind. He came to a stop inside a hollowed-out enclosure supported by a series of pillars. The enclosure surrounded a central spire arising from the river bed below, one which seemed to be accessible only via the stone bridge on the far side of the rift. On top of the central spire there rested some kind of shrine or artefact, which bore a vague resemblance to a piece of machinery, though he could swear that it was organic rather than mechanical in nature. He regarded the strange device, wondering what it might have been used for. Whatever purpose it had once served, it was inanimate now, and would remain so, much like the city itself, given that there was no-one left who know how to operate it, or even what it was meant for.

He looked out over the rest of the city. It was little more than a tomb, now. The city that had once been the habitat for a long-gone people. And today, that people's story had come to an end, now that the last Cetra had been laid to rest among her dead people. It seemed fitting, somehow.

He leaned against one of the pillars, watching the brook below as it trickled into the main body of water, wondering idly just how far the drop was. He closed his eyes, listening to the sound, waiting. A freezing winter wind blew throughout the stone corridor in which he stood. He might have noticed the cold, if he weren't already numb.

As he stood there, he heard someone approach. He did not turn around or react in any way, however. He knew who it was. Evidently, his childhood friend had taken upon herself the unpleasant task of reminding everyone that they didn't have time to mourn the dead. Not yet.

He felt her hand fall softly on his shoulder. "Everyone's waiting," she said, her voice close to a whisper. He opened his eyes at last, glancing at her over his shoulder. A wry smile crossed her features for a moment as he did, and there was a look in her eyes, different from the others', one that told him she wasn't giving up hope.

"I know," he replied, turning away again. She held on for half a second longer, the warmth from her fingertips the only sensation seeping through the dull ache that he felt all over. Finally, she withdrew from him, heading back to the others. He waited a moment longer, before following her back down the path they had come.

He marched back inside the conch building which they had made their temporary abode, coming to a halt at his cot on the far side of the room. His friends, occupied with making preparations for the journey ahead, all looked up from what they were doing as he entered the building, but he paid them no mind until he had gathered his own things, shouldering his backpack and sliding his blade back into its sheath. Only then, when he felt that he was ready for what lay ahead, did he turn to face them. Looking the group over, it was clear to him that they all looked to him for leadership. The looks on their faces told him as much. They were all waiting for him to give the order to continue with their journey. To let them know whether there would be a journey at all.

But there was never any choice in the matter. He knew they had to press on. They had an arduous journey ahead, and no idea how it would all end. The next step of that journey would take them through the frozen north, to a long-due reckoning at the locus of oblivion.

Cloud dropped his gaze to the ground again. It wasn't the time for making promises or grand speeches. Instead, he settled for leading by example. He had dragged them all along for this misadventure, and he would see it through to the end, through sheer stubbornness, if nothing else.

"Come on," he said. "We have a long way to go."

He looked his friends over one more time, meeting with each one's gaze, before marching out the door again. One by one, they followed him outside. As they exited the building, the first rays of the early morning sun could be seen breaking out over the horizon. They all looked up at the frozen peaks awaiting them, renewing their resolve as they braced themselves for the long journey ahead.

* * *

"You're a damn fool, you know that?"

The sound of Barret's voice brought him back to the present. He was seated by the single bed occupying the closest thing the Highwind had to a med bay. After their ordeal in the Lifestream, he and Tifa had washed up again on the shores of Mideel, or what was left of the town. He had come to not long after, but she had yet to wake up, having passed out shortly after their ascent to the surface.

The crew's resident physician assured him that she was fine, physically, and that she was simply exhausted from their trials in the Lifestream, coupled with fatigue from caring for him while he was in the hospital. As such, he informed them, it was mostly a matter of time before she came to. Even so, it was taking longer than it should, something which had Cloud and the others worried.

Unlike the rest of the Highwind (or 'the rust bucket', as its captain so charmingly referred to it), which sparse lighting left most of the interior in a perpetual gloom, the roof of the med bay was wired up with an endless array of harsh fluorescent lamps, rendering the whole room almost too bright. The unearthly brightness of his surroundings made it easy to slip into detached reveries.

"No need to remind me," he replied absently, not turning to face his friend standing in the doorway.

Barret scoffed, then shook his head. "Really? Sometimes, it feels like it's my damn job to remind people of the blindin' obvious."

He stepped inside the room, sitting up against the cupboard next to the bed, crossing his arms. Cloud glanced up at his friend. He could see the weariness in his face, gathered up from days of fighting and not getting enough sleep. While the rest of his Avalanche buddies had been out causing havoc for Shinra, he had been stuck in hospice care, drugged up and out of his mind. Then, he and Tifa became trapped in the Lifestream, where he would no doubt have lost himself, his identity, for good. But she had helped him to shatter the illusion, extricating his real self from his mental prison fabricated from stolen memories. And now, she was the one stuck in a hospital bed.

Barret heaved a heavy sigh as he looked down at the girl occupying the bed. "You know, she damn near got herself killed tryin' to protect your sorry ass."

There was a long pause. He sighed once more, shook his head again, then looked Cloud in the eye.

"You watch over her, all right?"

Cloud gave a nod in reply, then turned his attention back to his childhood friend as Barret left the room.

Everything seemed too still. Aside from the motion of the ceiling fan spinning slowly overhead, and the occasional beep from the heart monitor, no sound or movement could be detected inside the room. Cloud placed a hand on Tifa's forehead. As he suspected, she was burning up with a fever, something which did little to ease his worry or his regret. He had been so focused on bringing everything to a close, to bringing their enemies to justice, that he hadn't been paying her the attention she deserved. Not until it was too late. He had been distracted. Prideful. Arrogant.

Lost.

Despite the doctor's assurances that she would be up and about again any minute now, there was no indication that she was getting any better. He had already lost one guardian angel. Would he be forced to lose the other, too?

"Come on, Tifa.." he whispered, taking her hand.

"..Don't leave me now."

* * *

The old slum church looked quite different in the dark. The moonlight which swept in through the gap in the wall collided with the few pillars which remained intact, casting long shadows. Underneath the pallid beams, the remnants of the flower bed swayed in the gentle breeze, creating a ceaseless interplay between light and shadow, which moved and coursed throughout the whole edifice as though endowed with a life of their own.

Cloud watched the phantasmagoria playing on the surface of the water, which in turn was reflected on his own features. It was mere days after Avalanche's run-in with Kadaj and his cronies, and his own seemingly miraculous 'resurrection'. By now, news of the cure for Geostigma was underway, and the place would no doubt be bustling again by morning, as the word spread. But for now, it was quiet, which was what he needed most. There was only so much revelry he could take. As chaos gave way to order and existence resumed its everyday course, he withdrew from civilian life once again, despite promises to the contrary. Somehow, he felt less at ease in a world being pieced back together than he did in a world falling apart.

As he sat there by the edge of the water, he thought he heard the church door open. A few light steps echoed throughout the chamber as someone approached.

"There you are," Tifa said, walking over to where he sat. "Had enough of Barret's drunken antics?" she joked.

"Just needed some fresh air," Cloud replied.

"..I see," Tifa said, sitting down next to him. She brushed a few rogue strands of hair from her face, before drawing one knee up underneath her chin.

They sat together in silence for a moment, much like they had done on that starlit night under the well, all those years ago. Then..

"Listen, about what I said earlier.."

Cloud knew before she had finished her sentence what was on her mind. He had a feeling that either of them might bring this up before long. Just before he had left for Ajit in search for Marlene and the other children, they'd had a fight, and she had issued him with an ultimatum. He realized that it had merely been words spoken in the heat of the moment, but they still cut deep. Not that he could blame her for being frustrated with him. It seemed, however, that she still blamed herself.

"It's okay," he replied.

Tifa shook her head slowly. "No... it's not."

"You were upset."

"It doesn't matter," Tifa said. "It wasn't fair to you."

She turned away, avoiding his gaze.

"...or to her."

Another long silence passed between them, as they watched their distorted reflections in the pool of water before them.

"I know how much she meant to you."

Cloud looked up at her again, and she looked him in the eye at last. Despite everything that had happened since, it was the first time either of them had spoken in earnest about what happened two years ago.

Tifa looked away again. "You know... just before she left, she told me that she wanted to stay with us, but that things had to be different. I never knew knew what she meant, until.."

She shook her head, a wistful look on her face. It was clear that she was still struggling with her own regrets.

"I failed them," Cloud said. "Her and Zack. Because I was weak."

"That's not true," Tifa said, looking up at him. "No one would think that. Least of all the two of them."

She shifted closer to him, placing her hand over his. "You didn't let them down... okay?"

He thought about what she was saying. Just what was it she was telling him? A pleasant lie? Just something she thought he needed to hear? No. Tifa would never be that condescending. He knew she meant it.

He thought about Aerith. What would she tell him, if she were here? To seize the moment? To live without regrets? If only it were that easy.

Nevertheless, he drew nearer as well, placing his arm around Tifa, as she rested her head on his shoulder. They stayed that way for a long time, watching the starlit sky above, neither of them stirring for fear of ruining the moment.

"Do you think she.." Cloud began.

"She knows," Tifa replied, answering his question before he had a chance to ask it. "I'm sure of it."

"...Thank you."

She smiled, turning towards him, enfolding him within her arms. He returned the gesture, quietly relishing her warmth. That same warmth she always brought with her.

After a few moments, she pulled away with some reluctance. Heading outside again, she paused in the doorway. "It's close to supper time," she said. "Should I set the table for four?"

Cloud turned his head slightly, and gave a nod. "I'll be home soon."

She smiled at him.

"Take your time," she said. "We'll be waiting."

* * *

_One hundred days later_

 

She hadn't noticed him as he entered the church, and thus went about her business undisturbed. She would often take Denzel and Marlene here with her to tend to their fallen friend's garden, but today she was here alone.

He paused, leaning against the pillar next to the doorway, watching her as she worked, digging through a fresh patch of earth, mending the damage done with seeds culled from Elmyra's fields. She had already done much to restore this place, reviving the barren soil, once thought inimical to life.

No matter the clamour and bustle outside, there was always a sense of peace and tranquillity here that was nowhere else to be found. In the early morning light, the inside of the church seemed like the gardens of paradise. And in the centre of it all stood a seraph figure, bathed in light.

He had been blind to it for so long. After everything they had been through. Everything they had lost and sacrificed. After all the lies and self-deception... She didn't care. She was still there, standing by his side. Had been, all along. A patient angel, supporting him every step of the way, helping him to shoulder his burdens, salving his wounds. Whenever he stumbled, whenever things fell apart, she was always there to help him pick up the pieces. In his darkest hours, she was always there.

He brought the tiny velvet box out of his pocket once again, snapping the lid open as quietly as possible, examining the golden wedding band for a moment as it glinted in the sunlight, before putting it away again.

Maybe it wasn't the right time, he thought. Maybe it was still too soon. They had always been struggling to build a relationship, but for the two of them, it always seemed like it was too little, too late. Whenever one of them seemed ready, the other was not. And it had gone on that way for a long time. But time enough had passed for them to be honest with each other, at last.

In a way, this would simply be a symbolic gesture. A mere affirmation of something they both already knew. They were living together, working together, raising Denzel and Marlene together. They were already a family. But they were still one step apart, and their relationship, though close, remained platonic, detached. But they had been through too much together to give up on what they had, he decided. With this, they could finally move beyond their past. And then, perhaps, create a new beginning for themselves. All that was left was one step.

One final step.

Mounting the courage needed to take that step, he walked over to the centre of the church. Tifa looked up from her work as she finally noticed him approaching. "Hey," she greeted him, rising from the ground, a small bouquet gathered in her arms.

"Tifa.."

"What is it?" she asked, noting the troubled look on his face. She set the flowers aside, then walked over to meet him halfway. He came to a halt in front of her, avoiding her gaze. "There's something I want to ask you.."

He paused for a moment, searching for the right words. Try as he might, they wouldn't come.

"... but I don't know how," he admitted at last.

She looked up at him with curiosity, waiting for him to speak or act. As they stood there in the centre of the church, two figures enveloped by the bright rays piercing through the cracks in the ceiling, the rest of the world subsided, and there was only the moment. Only the two of them. He didn't have any words. All he could do was show her.

Taking a step closer, leaving only the smallest of spaces between them, he took her hands, placing the velvet box in her palm. She knew before he even opened it. The gesture elicited a tiny gasp of surprise and elation, and she brought her hand up to her face, unsure of whether what was happening was real or not.

"...Yes," she whispered, smiling, wiping away the tears streaming down her face. Soft laughter echoed throughout the church as she drew him into a warm embrace.

"Yes."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Another story from the Place That Shall Not Go Mentioned. As the inscription above indicates, this was a gift for the very much talented sanctum_c, whose page I recommend you go and peruse.
> 
> That's about it. No major alterations or corrections were made during this reposting. Constructive criticism (or just good, old-fashioned fawning) welcomed. Thanks for reading.


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